“I can’t believe you’re going to pick the fighter’s life when you have so much more going for you.” Dad shakes his head, not daring to look me in the eye.
“I’m not picking the fighter’s life, the fighter’s life chose me!” I point to myself, hollering so loud I can feel my face flush with anger. He used to be a boxer, a damn good one at that. It’s in my blood to fight, and I can’t help that.
“You need to relax.” Journey’s bushy brows peak. “Smoke some weed or something guys, geez.” Dad tilts his head to the side, shifting on his feet. “You smoke pot, Journey?” His question doesn’t come out like he’s angry anymore. No, it comes out as if he’s about to ask her for a joint. What the hell have I walked myself into?
Hollowing my cheeks I blow out an irritated breath and turn on my heels to head back toward Fiona and Chloe.
“You know what, I’m going back to bed. I don’t have the energy to deal with this right now.”
“Nice to know your best friend will let you sleep on her couch when you’re homeless!” Dad sneers from behind me.
Lifting my hand, I flip him off and keep walking.
“Glad to be home too, Dad!”
Camden Steel
A wave of thunder slams in my head, echoing into a storm of pain. Groaning I rub the heel of my palm into my eyes.
“UP!”
The blinds are pulled open and the damn sun from hell burns into my skin. Rolling over, I shove my head into my pillow.
“What the fuck Kaley?” Kaley is my assistant/publicist, and she’s a pain in my ass. One that won’t seem to go away. Everyone from my team has pretty much up and left when I went into hiding, except her. She’s either really stupid, or very loyal.
“Come on, today is the day we are going to jump back!”
“I’m going to stop you right there.” I hold my hand up interrupting her. Swinging my legs over the bed, I peel my left eyelid open and find her standing in front of the window with a hand on her hip, the other hand carrying a folder. “Today is the day for nothing. How many times do we have to do this before you get that?” She bites her bottom lip, and adjusts her thick black framed glasses. Shaking my head, I stand and stretch. My muscles are stiff and object to the strain. I grab my gray sweats off the floor and shuffle them up my legs, tying the strings snugly. Looking up I find Kaley eyeing me. I smirk, catching her red handed.
She wants the D.
“Okay well…” she mumbles, looking anywhere but at me. Her dark hair falling into her face.
Striding up to her, I flick a strand of hair falling in her face.
“Say the word sweetheart, I’m into the whole fucking my assistant so hard her glasses fog.”
Her cheeks flush, as she swats my hand away.
“Nice try Mr. Steele. I’m not interested.” Her chest rises as if she’s holding her breath. She’s lying.
“You sure about that?” Tilting my head to the side I can’t help but smirk. She adjusts her glasses and eyes the bed behind me. Glancing over my shoulder I find the girl I took to bed last night passed out. Her makeup is all over the pillow and her hair is frightful from all the styling shit she has in it.
“I’m not into sloppy seconds Mr. Steel.”
“Seconds can be just as satisfying as firsts Kaley.”
Swallowing hard, she fidgets with her hands.
“I need coffee.” Rubbing the back of my neck I leave the room heading to the kitchen. Heels click along the cemented floor, the smell of Kaley’s perfume making my head hurt more than it already is. It’s not from drinking either. More like the lack of. I’m a recovering alcoholic. At least that’s what the therapist, I’m ordered by the court to see weekly says. Setting up the Keurig I watch it stream hot water into the cracked ceramic cup.
“When are you going to unpack?” Kaley asks, stepping over boxes. Twisting my lips into thought, I look around the room. It’s a shit apartment compared to where I had been staying. It’s much smaller, and older. I think it was an old firehouse or something.
“What’s the point?” I won’t be able to afford rent here much longer. Fortunately for me, the people who were renting my parents’ house finally vacated, so I can live there if I need to. Only reason I haven’t yet is because of ghosts. Every time I step foot in that house, I can hear Tatum’s laugh haunt me.
“I don’t know, maybe it’ll help get that stick out of your ass if you sink your feet in somewhere.” I raise a brow at her flippant tone.
“So, the sports channel called and was wanting to set up a—”
“No.” I cut her off. We do this everyday. She tries to set me up with multiple promotional opportunities, and I always tell her no. Fighting in front of a camera… I’m over it. I’m done. My last stint made sure of that.
“Okay. The MFC wants to set up a fight with—”
“No.”
“Well, newscaster Tom Brenny wants an interview?”
“Nope.” I emphasis the p as I flip on the TV.
She sighs, lowering her clipboard.